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  • From the paper comes the new green bead cluster, bright and hidden, like beaded green thoughts in the garden mind, under our masses of ivy, the ganglia interrupta, the sun-shone-on tangle.

    Then the lime and chartreuse verses and poems, the bead-linked short stories emerge fully packed with symmetry and for a moment on a morning inhaling the barest beginnings of sounds and cloud planes, we see our green brain at work, we see the paper fall away, the paper veil of hiding.

    We were telling ourselves stories in our night brain.

    The one about the woman with the cute baby, the girl but on closer inspection in the carriage it is a boy, no, it was a fold of clothes, no the folded undifferentiated folds were the boy's body, no the boy was covered in fur, no real limbs he was a boy in a baby carriage, a boy seven feet long with dark fur and hooves, yes his mother was crying, weeping that she loved him so.

    But when I came to, the monster did not seem to be of the same earth as coffee in the garden and trying to beat the heat.

    The tidy green jewels, our green collected thoughts.

    In those green growing beads lie fur monsters in baby carriages and the howls of helpless moms.

    (Photo by Susan this morning in the garden)
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